


the wolves are circlin' (i'll be safe with you)

by anniebibananie



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon, F/M, Season 8, small moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-15 01:14:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18063770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anniebibananie/pseuds/anniebibananie
Summary: Gendry had gotten used to the way Arya would reach up and touch the soft spot where his neck met his collarbone—checking to make sure he was still him. Checking to see if he was really there. He wasn’t sure what it meant, but he knew it meant something.





	the wolves are circlin' (i'll be safe with you)

**Author's Note:**

> I am aware I will never get what I want in canon, so I guess I'll just fucking write it. I don't write canon-verse ever mostly because I get worried I'm messing up the game of thrones world, but I really liked this idea so hope you enjoy !

**I.**

 

There was a certain buzz in his bones as they get closer. _Winterfell._ It didn’t feel quite possible to live up to the expectations that had grown in his head like weeds over the years. All born from the unmeasurable love of a girl who dreamt of home, of a simpler time, of her family.

 

And what if she really _was_ there? He wasn’t sure which possibility was more terrifying.

 

It was cold, though, and that helped to keep his mind at least a little clearer than only thinking about Arya Stark. As every day they grew closer, the chatter of his companions seemed to dull and instead he was focused on his thoughts. Would he even recognize her? He couldn’t imagine seeing her and not _knowing,_ and yet it had been an awfully long time.

 

Winterfell looked nothing like he had imagined and yet felt exactly as it was meant to be. As his eyes traveled the turrets and bricks, he could hear Arya’s voice as if it was right beside him regaling all those stories of her cut-short youth they would whisper between one another on their bedrolls.

 

“ _T_ _his_ is a fucking castle, don't you think?" Tormund said, clapping Gendry on the back. The gates opened with a creak, and the snow crunched beneath their boots as they moved.

 

Gendry tried to keep his calm, move alongside the other men quietly, but he couldn’t help his eyes from trailing the grounds. She was meant to be here, he knew it, and yet she wasn’t standing beside the beautiful redhead he assumed to be Jon’s sister.

 

“Welcome,” she said in greeting, a terse nod of her head. She seemed hard to Gendry, but he could also see a softness in her as she turned to Jon and welcomed him home. He understood, though, that after tragedy there was a wall that went up that people had to earn their way past.

 

Gendry found his way to the kitchens. _No Arya._ He found his way to the council room. _No Arya._ He found his way to the forge. _No Arya._ All he had heard was whispers, but until he could see her and feel her breathing he knew it would be hard to accept she was alive and well.

 

In a twist of fate he hadn’t much anticipated, he felt her before he saw her. A hand to the side of his neck, and he was whipping around ready to strike as quickly as he could. There she stood—older, cleaner, more stoic. It was her, though, as strong as ever.

 

“You’re here,” she said, and there was something more in her words that he couldn’t quite place. Not that she was only surprised he had made it here, to Winterfell, but that there was something unreal about it actually being him. “Gendry Waters.”

 

“Aye, and you scared the shit out of me. What a reunion.”

 

The two stood in silence, space between them that felt so near and so impossibly far. Gendry wasn’t sure what he was allowed to do, but he wanted to touch her more. To feel that she was real and alive. To know he hadn’t ruined everything for this powerful woman who he had known as a girl. Was it bold of him to assume he even held that power?

 

Before he could figure out his next move, she was taking a step backward. “I practice in the mornings, if you would like to spar with me.”

 

He nodded. “I’ll see you then.”

 

**II.**

 

Gendry thought at some point he would get used to watching Arya move with the sword in her hand. And yet, every time she moved it was like watching a miracle take place in front of his eyes all over again. It hadn’t surprised him to find out she was as talented now as she had once been brave, but there was something about the way she moved that seemed to defy the laws of physics.

 

It didn’t help that the forge was near the yard, so that even when he was hard at work he could still see her teaching the children or sparring with Brienne or walking the length of Winterfell at Sansa’s side.

 

Usually, though, she found time to stop by and sit beside him with her food or to check out what he was working on. There wasn’t much time between making plans to save the world, but they did find the in-between moments.

 

“You know, I saw Hot Pie not that long ago,” she said one day as she nibbled at a block of cheese.

 

Gendry paused to wipe away the sweat of his forehead with the back of his forearm. “He still Hot Pie?”

 

She nodded. “His food has only gotten better.”

 

The two sat without words—just the sound of metal being worked and Arya’s quiet bites. She rose back to her feet, passing by him presumably to see something somewhere else, but as she did so there was a brief touch near his collarbone. If he wasn’t so aware of everything Arya did, he might think he had imagined it.

 

That touch, that spot—it was the same as when he had first arrived. He hadn’t thought much of it then, mostly because he assumed it was just some way to sneak up on him and get a rise. But this wasn’t the first, and despite the lengths Arya went to make it seem causal there seemed to be more to it.

 

She looked up from where she was across the room eyeing some pieces done earlier, raised a brow at his gaze. He went back to work.

 

If she wanted to tell him, he assumed she would tell him. No point wasting their precious time with things that didn’t matter.

 

**III.**

 

Winterfell was as cold as it was beautiful. Every time he thought he was finally adjusting, a whip of wind would find him strong enough to make him regret thinking it. Eventually it would have to get easier, right?

 

That was something he found so odd—watching the Starks walk through that unforgiving Winter as if they finally felt alive. Gendry had met Arya in Summer. Now it was Winter and she seemed to carry that fierceness even more profoundly in her bones.

 

The cold made him miss the mass of bodies all sleeping together from the old days, though there had been nothing all that pleasant about it back then. Besides for Arya, maybe. Though pleasant wasn’t quite the right word for her, either. It was nice, back then, knowing she was beside him as he went to sleep and she would be there when he woke up. Safe. Near.

 

Not that the danger would actually stay away because of that, but he had liked to imagine it could.

 

After twisting on his bed roll for the thousandth time, he gave up on the prospect of sleep and decided he might as well get a bit more work done. The end of the world was fast approaching, anyways. They needed as many weapons as they could get.

 

He heard her approach, which meant she wanted him to.

 

“Why is our lady up at such a late hour?” he teased. “You think you don’t need your beauty sleep?”

 

Her steps approached quicker, and then she was behind him. As she passed him to come to his side, he felt her hand come up to graze his skin. By the time he looked at her in her lighter clothing, hair down, both arms were planted at her sides again.

 

It didn’t feel like something he needed to bring up, though he wished he could feel her touch longer.

 

“I have slept soundly after doing some terrible things,” she said. Her eyes looked at the table for a moment before deciding to sit herself up on it, “and yet, lately it’s been harder to sleep.”

 

“I get that.” Gendry set down the arrow he was working on and reached for water. “It was easier to sleep knowing there were people near, actually.”

 

“Hm.” Arya hummed, mischief already playing at her features. “And did you sleep with a lot of company these last few years? Someone keeping your bed warm?”

 

Gendry paused. “No.” He should have joked back, kept it light, but when Arya’s face went smooth at the response he knew he had made the right choice. It wasn’t perfect, neither of them were, but it felt like it fixed something that still felt a little broken between them.

 

His thigh touched her knee, and he stepped a little closer. It wouldn’t be hard to reach out and kiss her in the way he sometimes thought about before he fell asleep these days. Instead, his eyes couldn’t help but wander to the spot where her neck met her collarbone and the fragile flesh that resided there. The same place she was always reaching out for him.

 

Before he could second guess his actions, his fingers found their way to the spot. It was smooth, pulsing, but otherwise unremarkable. Arya’s face grew confused before slipping into what Gendry assumed was the closest to surprised she got these days.

 

Brave from the slight shield of darkness and the timeless quality of the night, he tiptoed closer. His hand stayed where it was, but instead now he spread his palm wide. It looked so large compared to the size of her neck, his thumb reaching up to her cheek easily. Some of his fingers spread long enough to tangle lightly in her hair.

 

Arya’s eyes fluttered shut. How many times had she been touched like this, he wondered. Positive, affirming touches. It was no secret most of her life had been grief and tragedy. Had she ever gotten to experience any sense of pleasure?

 

Feeling bolder still with the way Arya seemed to unwillingly give into the touch, he reached his other hand forward and traced the spot her jaw sometimes ticked. Sometimes, especially these days, Gendry felt like somewhat of a connoisseur on the mechanics of Arya Stark.

 

Her eyes flicked open, and the gaze made it seem that much more apparent how close they were.

 

“Do you know your jaw ticks right here?” he asked as his finger paused on the spot. “I’ve never seen anyone else tick like that.”

 

“It’s nice to be special,” she said in a tone that Gendry found impossible to read. “You should try to get some sleep. The days are only going to get longer.”

 

“Are you going to follow your own words?” His hand was still playing at her neck, and though every part of him wanted to deny the moment had paused it was impossible. He stepped back, taking his hand with him.

 

“I will try,” she said as she hopped down off the table. “Goodnight, Gendry.”

 

The forge was even quieter without her. His bedroll felt emptier.

  


**IV.**

 

Tomorrow, they would head out for what could be the end of the world. Gendry found a sort of calmness in that he had failed to feel maybe ever. Not that he wasn’t scared shitless, because he definitely was terrified beyond belief.

 

Somehow, though, he found solace knowing they either made it or they didn’t. Hopefully, after all of this, there would be a chance of living instead of surviving. Gendry was getting awfully tired of the business of surviving.

 

“Pass me some, will you,” Arya said with a mug already in her palms. She didn’t drink often, but the end of the world seemed as good a time as any Gendry assumed. He passed her the flagon as she sat beside him on the bench.

 

They were in the great hall, the fires roaring. Gods, Gendry wished he could stay in the warmth at least. Sansa was sitting between Brienne and Jon, discussing something casually, while Tormund was telling a story theatrically to a whole table full of people.

 

Gendry hadn’t felt much like the theatrics, so after Davos had given him a pat on the back before disappearing, he had found himself a nice place in the shadows to sit. He should have known the shadows would have been exactly where Arya would be, too.

 

“I do miss Braavosi wine,” she said between sips.

 

“Maybe if we survive this all you can finally tell me the unabridged story,” he said. The ale had made him feel looser. The firelight flickered across Arya’s skin, and he had the terrible urge to reach out a finger and touch her smooth flesh.

 

He didn’t, though. He always let her lead, unsure if he had a right to make moves like that.

 

She took a sip around a smirk. “Maybe,” Arya said. “Would that give you something more to fight for?”

 

Gendry paused, the mug halfway to his mouth. He brought it back down, eyes trained on Arya as she watched the crowds move in one last celebration. She was quite beautiful, really, in a way that never seemed to surprise him. In a way that always meant he could find something else that appealed to him—the curve of her nose, the shine of her skin, the brightness in her eyes.

 

“I already have quite a lot to fight for,” he said, his voice much more serious than he had really meant it. Though certainly as truthfully as he had felt it. Her eyes darted to his, and he cleared his throat. “Though, it never hurts to have a few more.”

 

When he looked back over to her, she met his gaze. She reached up a palm and rested it on the spot he had gotten so used to feeling it. It was warm as she applied a brief pressure, unconscious in her movement.

 

He raised a brow. “Why?”

 

She pulled her palm back, and he missed the feel of it.

 

“You’ve heard of the faces I was taught to wear?”

 

“Aye.” He nodded. “Walder Frey. A servant girl. Haven’t heard all the stories, but I know enough.”

 

“Right here,” she said, slowly bringing a finger up and pressing it to the spot her hand had just been, “is where you can tell if the mask is there.”

 

His brows furrowed. “Do you think I’m pretending?” He couldn’t imagine what must go through her head every time she reached out to check. Did he not seem like himself? Or was she afraid he wasn’t? With equal measure he wanted to understand the horrible story of her survival and never have to think about the terrors she endured.

 

“I—” Her answer died on her lips as Jon stood up to make a speech. Despite the din of the crowd gathered, despite the attention all on him, Arya’s eyes stayed on Gendry’s and Gendry’s stayed on hers.

 

“I wish you never had to doubt me by your side. Wish I hadn’t done that to you.”

 

People began funneling out of the room, and Arya’s lips tilted up at the side as she remained unbothered by everyone else. Her hand approached his face, and she rubbed her thumb over the scar above his eyebrow.

 

Someday, maybe they would get to share their marks. He wanted that for them.

 

Her hand pulled back into her lap, and she was up on her feet before he could even tell it was coming.

 

“Don’t die, Gendry,” she said. “I wouldn’t be able to forgive you for that. Goodnight.”

 

As she turned around, Gendry reached out and grabbed her upper arm. “Arya,” he said. She turned to look at him over her shoulder. “That goes both ways.”

 

“As your grace the Baratheon commands,” she said through a smirk.

 

“Oh, sho—”

 

Her laughter was delicate, blowing on the wings of the air, before it was gone as if she had never been there. Just him and his ale, thinking about the impossible girl he loved.

  


**V.**

 

The snow fell around them, thick and white, but there was no fear of anything crawling through it to claw at their necks. There was a peace, and that was almost harder to deal with in some ways. Gendry wasn’t sure he knew how to live in that world, and he was certain Arya knew how to do it even less.

 

“Gendry,” she said, turning from the view of snow around them.  

 

They had slept and bathed, and still Gendry felt like there was death coating his skin. He wasn’t sure when he would stop feeling tired, but he hoped for it. He hoped they would figure out some sort of way to live in the peace.

 

“M’lady?” he asked, mostly because it was a habit still to tease but also because sometimes, though he knew he shouldn’t, he imagined saying it slower until it was properly two words. _My lady._ There were a million reasons that wasn’t right, though, and he kept that thought as firmly packed away as he could manage.

 

Her lips pursed in distaste, but she continued on unhindered. “I was talking to Jon, and…” her words trailed off, and he watched the way her eyes darted for a moment. She swallowed audibly, and then her hands reached up to the familiar place near his collarbone. Just a touch, feather light.

 

“I’m me,” he said. “No one else.”

 

She nodded, pulling her hand back.

 

“Are you always checking everyone?” he asked. “Or just me?”

 

She shook her head no, watching the expanse of snow before them. Gendry imagined what it must have been like for her as a child to stand between the embrasures and know the North stood before you, in some small way all yours.

 

“Sometimes Sansa, simply because she seems so impossibly different. These days, though, just you.”

 

“Why’s that?” Gendry asked. “Don’t trust me?”

 

She paused. Gendry knew she could lie so well he would never be able to tell, but he felt like (hoped?) that the break in silence was a moment to get the courage for the truth.

 

“I spent a long time away from you,” Arya said. “You know some of what happened, not all of course. I was unmade and made again, over and over, until I _knew_ I was no one though I still believed I was Arya Stark. I spent many nights thinking about who I was and where I had been, and too many to count thinking about where you had gone and how I could have saved you. It’s easy to kill, you see, not so easy to save.”

 

“You think I’m a mirage because you thought you killed me?” he asked.

 

“I think you’re a lie because I have spent most of my life never getting what I want. I can’t dare to believe you might actually be here, real, by my side, without some sort of trick.”

 

Gendry could feel in his chest that this was the truth, and he wanted to believe that feeling. He turned, feeling still out of place in this cold after so long and the furs that covered him, and stared down at her. She turned toward him, too, with a raised brow, and he reached for her hand to pull it to that spot.

 

“I left you once,” he said, reveling in the warmth of her palm against his neck, “and I swear it by whatever fucking gods you want that I won’t do it again. I’ll follow you wherever you go.”

 

“If you were thinking of doing something stupid, like kiss me—”

 

“I wouldn’t—”

 

“Now would be a good time,” she said, cocking her head to the side. “I was going to say earlier that Jon needs someone to go across the Narrow Sea, and he asked me. If you’re willing to follow me wherever, then that's the first stop.”

 

“It warmer than here?” he asked. She nodded. “Thank the gods.” He reached out his palms cautiously, like approaching something of a wild animal, and first brought a hand to the side of her neck. Then the other to the side of her face. She didn’t run, and Gendry dipped forward.

 

It was soft, and light, and for a moment Gendry wasn’t entirely sure this was _real_ kissing Arya Stark in the yard of her childhood home. A girl he had thought he had lost so long ago. Someone who was higher born and entirely unlikely. But maybe that was what she felt when she reached out to touch that familiar stretch of skin of his. He could understand that.

 

She must have stepped further up on her tiptoes, because suddenly she was pushing closer into him. There was more heat between them, around them, despite the snow of Winterfell. Gendry held her tight, their lips moving in tandem, and felt something calm wash over him. This was peace.

 

“Really, anywhere?” Arya asked after pulling back.

 

“I’m hoping we can avoid death for at least a while, but with you I know that might not be likely.” He smiled wide at the annoyed look of her face. “Anywhere.” He reached down to kiss her because he was pretty sure she would let him do it, and she kissed him briefly back.

 

“You might want to go pack,” she said. “We leave early.”

 

“As m’lady commands,” he said as he raised a brow, mockingly bowing his head.

 

She hit him, as she usually did, but this time she smiled through it. This time, he was sure it was with love. 

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked, comments fuel me! also find me on tumblr at [anniebibananie](http://anniebibananie.tumblr.com/).


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